


On A Lonely Isle

by dawnstonedagger



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Ancient Arlathan, Descent Lore, Evanuris, Friendship, Gen, Lore Speculation, Male-Female Friendship, Negotiations, Political Alliances, Power Dynamics, Rebellion, Trespasser Lore, Truce, pre-Veil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-19 21:35:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7378261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawnstonedagger/pseuds/dawnstonedagger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas has put his time in Mythal's service behind him, to begin his quest to free the People. However, it has become increasingly clear to him that his task would be easier if he had her support.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On A Lonely Isle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [russian_blue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/russian_blue/gifts).



Solas sensed Mythal's approach, long before he could see the sweeping strokes of her wings.

Fidgeting with his gloves, he watched for her from the shore; soon enough, she cut across the horizon, black and swift against the indigo and gold dawn sky, high above the grey saltwater. 

As she landed, her broad, leathery wings buffeted him back. He had to brace himself to remain standing. 

Trying to suppress a gut-clenching wave of fear, Solas reminded himself she had no dominion here. This rocky, treeless islet in the Waking Sea, was unique in that it belonged to no one, even in the Fade.

“This should never have happened,” she said, shifting in a swirl of light, from sharp-spined dragon, to spike-crowned woman. Her golden eyes locked upon him, predatory, angry, frustrated; her voice, full and clear, rang like thunder into the far corners of his being, drowning out the sound of surf and morning birds. 

It took effort, but he did not bow to her, even to be polite. She did not command him anymore.

“But it did happen,” he said, finally. 

Disapprove as she might, what he had set in motion continued to gain traction among the People. If she, like the other Evanuris, refused to free her slaves, he would not hesitate to remove the vallaslin from their fugitives and asylum-seekers and accept them into his ranks. 

Behind them, his griffon, which had brought him to this otherwise inaccessible scrap of land, gave a shrill complaint. Mythal's dramatic arrival had stolen Solas’ attention from her, and the temperamental beast chose this inopportune moment to display her wide jealous streak.

Concerned she might become troublesome, if she thought he was in danger, he glanced back in warning. The silver-feathered griffon blinked at him once and fluffed down irritably into the tall grass. 

Her movement though, displaced a small cloud of curious, spying wisps. They shimmered up in a wave of multicolored sparks and squeaked away in alarm.

Mythal ignored these distractions.

“You have called me here, speak to me, wolf,” she said. 

Solas did not honor her with that form today. Perhaps this would be easier if he had. Walking on four legs not only gave him speed, strength, and a lower center of gravity when fighting, but a muzzle full of pleasingly sharp teeth. 

“I did not sit at your feet, advising you for a thousand years, to lose my tongue now, I assure you. You wish for me to agree with you, however, and that is impossible,” he said, standing his ground and crossing his arms behind his back.

Mythal's pointed chin lifted at him, her eyes narrowing, noticing his change in posture.

“I have many ways of making unlikely things possible, Solas. You did not need to ask me to the emptiest most obscure atoll available, when you are yet welcome in my cities. Even the spirits here are of solitude and yearning and, ah yes, pigheadedness,” she said, implying he had attracted the latter spirit himself.

“I believe that spirit calls itself Tenacity, but I have not been here long enough to ask,” he said, looking over his shoulder, fairly certain it had already been present when he arrived. “While I appreciate the invitation, I think it better this way. Returning so soon would send the wrong message.”

If they were to work together, she would have to concede that his cause was righteous and work with him as an equal. All of the People deserved to be free, regardless of their rank or calling. That, and they deserved a fighting chance against the poison which their leaders threatened to unleash upon the world.

“I see. So be it. We shall conduct business on this dingy rock away from all comfort and joy,” she said. 

Mythal then took a seat upon the nearest mossy boulder, which shifted slightly beneath her into a flatter, more suitable shape, while limber vines sprouted and curled up to form armrests for her throne.

“I am pleased you came,” Solas replied, hoping his relief was not too obvious, choosing to remain standing. 

She did seem to genuinely wish to hear him out, else this meeting would have begun with a great deal more fire. In truth, he had expected more resistance, perhaps even an official denouncement. Instead, she was listening. An excellent development, as the last thing he wanted was to be on opposite sides of a war with Mythal.

For there would be a war soon, of that he had no doubt. He had started it after all.

“Yes. But look at you! I cannot say I approve of your choice of attire,” she said, making a sweeping movement at his plain tunic and unadorned shoulders. “You’ve scarcely been away from my side a year. Were you forced to rummage through some hermit's castoffs? Even in rags, who but for a mind-blind moonchild would mistake you for anything but what you are?”

“Anyone unfamiliar with the concept of camouflage; such garb is practical for now. I have missed your biting wit, my friend,” he said, which was true enough.

“Ah, so I am allowed your friendship, then?”

“If given freely, it may be taken freely,” he said, not expecting her to wince back at the reminder.

“Would that I had not planted such bitterness in your heart.”

“You are scarcely the source of that. I hold no animosity towards you.”

In their time together, she was fair to him, even kind, and eventually they had developed mutual respect. It did not change the fact she had been, for all intents and purposes, his master. He, once a counted a sinner, a traitor, bound into a pathetic shape tied to the earth, and given to her as a gift from Elgar’nan. 

“Yet you did not hesitate to run from my side at your first opportunity.” Mythal sounded hurt and perhaps a little confused, but then she had not been the one who relegated him to servitude. She had simply allowed it to continue unabated. 

“And I will not be returning. But to the point. Not only are those who wish to be free from the Evanuris coming to my banner of their own volition, I have found an unexpected ally,” he said, smiling. “Ghilan'nain.”

Something wicked and cold stirred in him, a mischievous delight in seeing her sit up straight in shock.

“You would take her aid? That sadistic monster? Even after everything she's done to you?” Her outraged stare could have peeled the plaster from his murals at the library.

“I can hardly afford to stop her if she chooses to.”

“No, you do not wish to stop her,” she said, her voice rife with disapproval. 

“I do not wish to see the Evanuris destroy our people, nor does she. In that we are of a singular mind. Thus, for now, our paths converge. If even someone so enamored of her purpose can see reason, perhaps the others will come around.” 

He knew better than to to fully trust Ghilan'nain, lest he end up as part of one of her “projects” again, but she often had useful information and insights. Also, she did not keep slaves. Her servants, to his knowledge, came to her willingly. Those that survived long enough, often enjoyed showing off the enhancements to their forms she offered in return.

Mythal chuckled at his optimism.

“No, I do not think that likely. She cares for you in her way. I cannot say that for the rest.”

“I see. And you?”

“What you seek is just. What you wish is just. The world I, you, and all of my beloved children live in, it will never be just. I only begin to understand that I have been ignoring an important truth,” she said, leaning forward as if about to spring to her feet.

“That you want to control the world?” he asked, dryly.

“Impertinent. No, rather I have made assumptions. I assumed that with enough careful consideration and an open mind I could encompass fully the virtues I hold so dear. But it is not so. I could walk every layer of the Deepest Fade, I could delve every ocean of memory, listen and hear all that is, see and feel all that was, and yet never truly know and understand even you. I hurt you, to uphold my own glory.”

Solas let her words sink in for a moment, uncertain how to reply. He fell back upon platitudes he might have used back in her temple.

“You are wise beyond measure; my pain is fleeting, and my debt to you paid. Your glory upholds itself,” he said, almost unable to hold her gaze. Neither of them were prone to displays of humility, but it was in her nature to acknowledge even the most painful of truths.

“Are you saying you deserved it? You did not.”

“Under the circumstances, my sentence could have been far worse,” he said. “It took me a long time to realize—to decide—I had been given an opportunity, rather than a punishment. For that I thank you.”

He would never have had access to the great halls and courts and temple inner sanctums of the other Evanuris, if he had not been at her side. 

Solas knew them all; how they operated, who their favored servants were; where they spent their resources; whether they tortured their slaves, or made them suffer. He knew the depths of Sylaise’s envy of her sister Andruil; he had discovered just how terrified of Ghilan’nain Andruil was; he knew how wide the gulf between Mythal and Elgar’nan had grown, and the sadness it brought them both; he knew that Dirthamen and Falon’Din were looking for any proper excuse to turn against the others, perched on the cusp of their latest grab for power.

Even if she had not meant to elevate him, Mythal had given Solas the tools to carve out his own space if he so chose. 

“If you wish to thank me, then stay on your guard. Elgar'nan has noticed just how many of his slaves have abandoned their duties and gone running for your borders. He seeks to discredit you.”

“I find it strangely comforting that he already sees me as such a threat. Only fear has kept the rest from walking away, you know. So many of them have scars beneath their vallaslin. Tell me, what does he say of me?”

Mythal cackled heartily. “Need I repeat such things?”

“Tell me.”

“In his words, you will steal from him, offering freedom, only to put your own mark on them, for they will ask for it themselves. He calls you everything he called you before—underhanded malingerer, louse-bitten thief, thankless traitor, damned fool wolf... No, wait, that was me. Notably he has added 'rebellious fade-drunk mongrel' to the list. His cohort has taken to referring to you as Fen'Harel, though,” she said, still chuckling.

“Ah, colorful as ever. I expect they will have a new name to ridicule me with soon enough. Though few of Elgar'nan's cronies are clever off of the battlefield.”

“You wanted his attention.”

He turned to look at her sharply. “I wanted him to consider his actions, before making a terrible mistake.” 

Elgar’nan’s lyrium mines were lost. Or as good as. There might be parts of the Titan that were not seething with foul energy and latent corruption, but there was not enough of the pure lyrium left to waste time attempting to recover it. Not when his people could be better used working on containing the problem. 

“How alike you are at times. I believe he said something similar of you.”

Solas’ temper flared at her smothered laughter, and he paced over the prickly grass, arms behind his back, scowling.

“We are nothing alike,” he said.

Nearby, his griffon chirruped at him, displeased with the sudden shift in his mood, and the violent eddies it created in the ambient magic around them. All of the peaceful spirits, which had been hovering near among the grass and stones, quietly slipped away. A Fear demon, spindly and gaunt and radiating dread, taunted them from the shore, but it did not move closer.

“This is not about any vendetta we might have carried over the centuries. I will continue guiding those he has subjugated to safety. Better than letting them die in the blighted lyrium mines he refuses to close. Ghilan'nain informed me of your proposed method to stall the spread of it, and by her calculations it is painfully temporary. It would buy us a few hundred years at best.”

Even if she were to have every passage sealed, there was yet the matter of water, of tainted fish and insects, bats, and digging creatures. All of which might carry the seeds of the Blight up from the deepest caverns. He had already experienced powerful nightmares over how easy it would be for it to proliferate unchecked. The Fade held many secrets, and he allowed himself to hope, for now, his dreams were not prophetic.

“I am aware.”

“And while we argue, while we wait, Andruil and her so-called explorers, could be in the deepest reddest trenches, attempting to gather the stuff. She thinks to weaponize it, you must realize. I have evidence she is already working in secret.” He had few spies in her court, as the Huntress was adroit at discovering them, but he learned enough to justify his terror.

Andruil had a never-ending thirst for the new and the mighty and the beautiful, which, while the first war against the Titans raged, brought many to her bright banner. The echoes of the glory she earned in battle, yet resounded in the Fade. What glory she sought now, however, was hollow.

“The situation is very precarious, I agree. I witnessed the ruins of Afelaharan. Every tower cast down, the forests and fields beyond, sick and poisoned; the people twisted and deformed, before they were cleansed with fire. It is not so far from Arlathan. We must consider every option,” she said, her expression grave. There had been no saving them, no cure, no countermeasure but for utter annihilation.

“Even if waiting one more day means letting the Blight take further hold? Think of how far it has spread already! What if it infects another Titan?” 

So much of Elvhenan relied upon the easy availability of lyrium. It infused their architecture, powered a myriad immense and important spells, and made the frantically expanding eluvian network, safe and reliable. To lose a source of it might be troublesome, but it would be spectacularly unwise to pretend the resource had been unlimited to begin with.

“The Durgen'len claim the rot will not seep further, nor infect lyrium elsewhere, provided the Titan remains asleep and all roads to it are sealed. Elgar’nan will see reason, he simply cannot be rushed to action. He believes Andruil’s excursions have merit, and she has not met with harm.”

Elgar’nan being rushed, meant that he only spent five years considering whether or not to ignore an important petition instead of ten. Solas had long since run to the end of his patience with him.

“Andruil is free to play with her own life, as she sees fit. I simply find it ridiculous she is permitted to gamble with ours. The Durgen'len you have conquered are afraid to tell you anything you do not want to hear,” he said.

Those of the Children of the Stone who lived within her borders, worshiped her. Freed from service to their Titan, they were left dependent upon her mercy for goods and trade, and looked to her for guidance and settling disputes. They would not risk her ire, if possible.

“I tend to believe them in this. It can be contained, and with care we may avoid disaster.”

“And the Evanuris will send their slaves to stand between them and the danger, should disaster prove inevitable,” he said.

He had witnessed such waste and horror, time and time again, even before this madness. Innocent souls compelled into darkness and certain death for insignificant gains. 

Solas still had not entirely forgiven Mythal for sending him to deal with Falon’Din alone. He defended her border from an army of thralls and corpses and revenants for years, while she watched the situation deteriorate from afar.

Much of what he remembered from that time involved running and running, burned bodies underfoot, electricity crackling around him, his barrier spell fading, the taste of decay in his mouth. Those at his command would send volley after volley of enchanted arrows into the waves of unfeeling dead, until the enslaved spirits animating them either broke their compulsion, or were shattered. 

Despite his defeat, Falon’Din still had much to answer for. 

“Nothing is inevitable, Solas.”

“I would be more than pleased to be wrong, but I am not counting on it.”

Each of the Evanuris hungered for power. Even Mythal, in her own way. Though, she largely attempted to use what might she possessed to benefit her people, protecting them from war and famine and twisted spirits.

“In your position I rather expect I would be unrelentingly suspicious as well. Never mind. I am not here this morn to fix matters between you and Elgar'nan, nor the others, nor to solve all of the world’s problems. It would be pleasing to me if we could speak peaceably once more, however.”

“So you have considered my offer?” he asked, glad for the change of topic.

“I have. Though, I expect you have not told me everything. Now that you have control of half of my spies, wolf, my intelligence has not been as reliable.”

“And the price?” For even if Mythal desired an alliance with his fledgling rebellion above all things, or simply with him, she would never assist anyone without having her due.

Mythal smiled, tilting her head slightly at him as if she already knew he would accept what she had in mind, and then stood. She wove her way over to him, until they were face to face, and placed her gauntleted hand upon his shoulder.

“If you believe yourself capable of being my equal, wish to pride yourself on surpassing my glory, I require that you protect the People, all of the People, in the Fade, in the Waking World, and places beyond, to the best of your ability, for so long as you exist. Do this, and you will have my aid.”

“Not a small duty to undertake,” he said, considering her words.

“Were you not the one who desired to incite enduring change? Justice for those you believe cruelly oppressed, aid for those disallowed from reaching their full potential? Help me mete out this justice, protect those who are in need of it, and I will see that those remaining among my people who wish it live free,” she said.

“To the best of my ability, I will honor your request.” 

“Then I will assist you and support your efforts, for so long as they do not conflict with my own duties.”

A very open-ended agreement, with that caveat, but knowing the weight and breadth of her duties, one he could live with.

Solas did not begin the spell that often marked a binding agreement, disenchanted as he was with all magic related to the creation of geases and bindings. Mythal seemed to sense his reticence and did not complain, though she searched his face for a moment.

“If I were to embrace you, my friend, I think you would weep,” she said.

She hugged him despite this observation, her armor cold where it touched his skin. Solas could not help but to return it, the familiar scent of her dredging up memories of better times; of banquets where he would whisper to her outrageous secrets; quiet evenings, content curled at her feet as she reclined, and he escaped into the Fade.

His eyes remained dry, but he must have looked somewhat wistful all the same. For when she stepped back, Mythal touched his cheek gently, careful not to poke him with the long talons on her gauntlet. She smiled at him with fondness and certainty.

“I must go. Do not think to leave me out of your planning. I will find out,” she warned.

Then she turned her back to him, and walked away, heading for an open area from which to take flight.

“I would not dream of it,” he said, uncertain whether she heard his reply. Mythal disappeared within the swirl of magic twisting around her as she changed forms. Just as quickly as she shifted, she leapt into the air and streaked off into the brightening sky.

Hope anchored in his heart, and friendship renewed, Solas woke his griffon. He had much to do, before he could walk in dreams again.


End file.
